Sign Me Up
by Bilbo B. Swaggins
Summary: With the help of a smartphone app, Kairi finds the perfect partner for a one-night stand. Too bad this affair lasts much, much longer than than one night.


Chapter 1

I'm a basic bitch. I'll be the first to admit that. Or I would if I knew what a basic bitch actually was. Seriously, there are like a billion definitions online, some contradictory, some misogynistic (surprise), and some not so basic at all.

But if being a basic bitch means being an average, non-special girl who lives a mostly normal, non-special life, then I am Kairi, the most basic of bitches.

Except today.

Today, I'm extraordinary.

In the mirror, I see a girl with straight wine-red hair and perfectly done makeup staring at me. I smile. She does too. We both know that we look fantastic.

"You look fantastic, Kairi." Naminé, my roommate/best friend/on-demand makeup artist apparently agrees. She tosses my favorite pair of denim shorts onto my bed.

"Yes! Thank you." I slip into them quickly so I don't have to expose Naminé to my pants-less self. They're still warm from time in the dryer. With them, my ensemble is complete. I add a finishing touch by rolling up the sleeves of my pink plaid shirt.

God damn. Kairi. You're adorable.

"So what time's the date?" Naminé asks.

"Soon. And it's not a date, Nams. It's a meet-up," I say.

"Same thing. It's not like dates have to be romantic," she says.

"And yet yours always are."

"Kairi." Naminé gives me a look. It's the kind of look that says "Come on, Kairi. You know what I mean." You know that look. It's a slight head tilt, a pressed smiled that betrays an otherwise serious expression, and half-lidded eyes that dare to you to talk back. Bonus points are awarded to the person with glasses: she'd have the option to deliver a patronizing look over the top of her frames.

"I'm just teasing," I say soothingly. It's only to appease her though. I'm not wrong: Naminé has it all at the sweet and tender age of eighteen. Money, looks, a brain to match, a loving and supportive family, a boyfriend that she's been dating for like five years. And on top of all that, the most enviable fortune she has is a clear direction and life path that she determined for herself and wanted to follow.

That's important. There's a difference in knowing what you want and knowing how to get it. I, like most people, am still trying to figure out what I want. I know what I like, but I can't decide on something I really want. College in a nutshell, right?

Naminé figured out how to be an adult the moment we set foot on campus a few months ago.

I need to stop. I shouldn't be feeling envious about my best friend's seemingly perfect life right now. Besides, she just helped me out.

"Thanks for helping with my makeup, by the way," I say as I admire my face again. I really look like a different person, and right now that's doing wonders for my self-esteem, as temporary as it is.

Naminé, who is sitting behind me, meets my eyes through the mirror. "I had fun, so don't mention it."

I grab my shoes, appropriately named Chuck and Taylor—Chuck is the left and Taylor is the right—and slip them on.

"Need a ride?" Naminé asks as she walks behind me.

"No thanks. We're meeting somewhere midtown." Midtown was not quite downtown, but it was a bit safer. It was just south of campus, located across the southernmost street that ran along the edge of the main campus property, so it was easy to commute via public transportation. "Are you staying here tonight?"

"No. I'll probably spend the night at Roxas's. After I drop you off, of course," she adds nonchalantly.

"No you're not. I'm not taking you from your boyfriend. You should gather your things and I will just…" I trail off to gather my phone, keys, and wristlet. I need to leave before—

"I'm taking you, Kai—don't you dare run out that door!" she yells. Too late. I jet down the stairs, laughing as I hear Naminé calling after me. She chases me all the way to the parking lot of our apartment complex. I guess she _really_ wanted to give me a ride.

Namine never comes close to catching me. I slow down, both out of knowing I'll never be caught and out of pity, and remember that my best friend actually does have a flaw.

The poor girl does not have an athletic bone in her body.

I, on the other hand, am less than half a year removed from being a cross country captain of a district-winning track and field team.

Go Gullwings.

The chase ends in about forty-five seconds.

"Kairi, you better stop running right now!" Naminé demands, already out of breath. "I will chase you until you're dripping in sweat if I have to!"

I stop. It's something she totally would do if she could without dying first. Out of consideration for my best friend's heart, I give up.

"Why can't you just let me take the tram?" I whine. She had a good point though. Ruining my appearance with sweaty armpits and wind-tossed hair is the last thing I want to do.

"Because I want to. Now, you're going to go back to the apartment and lock our door. I"—Naminé pauses to fill her lungs with air—"am going to wait in the car, and from there we will leave. No running, just driving."

"Fine." I make my way back to the apartment, walking slower than usual just to spite her until I remember that _I'm_ the one that needs to be somewhere. My revenge tour to the apartment and back to the car becomes a walk of shame.

That's what I get for trying to run from a favor.

* * *

Naminé doesn't know that Sora, the guy I'm about to meet in person, is one of the people I've been talking to on Mingler.

Mingler is an app by the tech giant Moogle. You fill out a short profile, add a few pictures, and then submit your location and interests. The app then matches you with people you may be interested. I'm sure the algorithm takes into account one's age, location, likes, dislikes, and that weird questionnaire that included questions like "What is your spirit animal?" and "If you were a bell pepper, which color would you be?" that seemed totally arbitrary and made no sense.

Mingler is meant to allow the user to find and chat with people with similar interests. For most people, including myself, it's used to sometimes find a casual sex partner.

Yes, Kairi the basic bitch likes to explore her options. But god forbid a girl actually enjoys having sex with different people. The shit people say sometimes is infuriating.

Years of being shamed conditioned me to keep quiet about my sexual habits. I'd like to say I was strong enough to brush everyone's insults, but I'm not immune to getting hurt. I have feelings, and as harmless as words may seem, they leave scars and change you in ways that are hard to perceive. Maybe you're less vocal about who you like because the girls will secretly talk about it. Maybe you find it harder to trust guys who may or may not have a genuine interest in you. Maybe you wonder why you're so different and why people don't like that. Or maybe you're put through so much shit that you can't help but allow those terrible words, those vitriolic labels and blistering criticisms, to define you.

It's the reason why I can't tell even my best friend the truth behind this little rendezvous. As much as I trust Naminé, I'm haunted by the thought that she'll think less of me if she knew that I truly slept with more than three different guys already. I mean, the rest of the world thinks I'm disgusting. I wouldn't blame her if she was conditioned to think the same.

I know that Naminé only offered to give me a ride to see the guy I was meeting. It's pretty evident thanks to the car ride interview. To spice things up, and perhaps to defend myself, I decide to turn it into a game and alternate between telling the truth and a lie.

"So how long have you been talking?" she asks.

"About a month," I say, starting off with a lie. I don't even remember Sora's last name. To my credit, we've only been talking for about a day and a half.

"And you're just meeting now?" There's a slight hitch in Naminé's voice as she briefly looks at me in disbelief.

"Yup." Well that was easy. That's the truth, after all.

"How'd you two start talking anyway?"

"Oh, I think we commented on the same topic in an online course. Nothing to start a conversation like agreeing over a controversial issue, right?" That's a lie. It's so far down the lying spectrum that I almost laugh.

Real talk: Mingler presents you with profile after profile after profile of guys—or girls—in your area. You have the option to either pass on them or indicate that you're interested. If they indicate that they're interested in talking to you, then you're matched up and a small chat opens up. Why did I start talking to Sora? Because he looked pretty cute in his profile picture. He was pretty hot if the picture was actually him. I'm sure he got a lot of matches.

Why did I keep talking to him? Because he was hilarious. I don't think I've ever enjoyed talking with someone that much before. We texted for about four hours straight last night, and that had a lot to do with our decision to meet up today.

"Is he here already?" Naminé cranes her neck to scan the restaurant window. I want to tell her that she has no idea who she's looking for, but I'd rather she just leave.

"No, he's not," I lie as I step out of the car. Truth be told, I have no idea whether or not he's here. We agreed on a time, and if he stands me up, then I just move on with my life. "Move along, Mom. This ain't the middle school formal."

Naminé laughs and shakes her head. "If things go well, you better introduce me. I'll see you later."

I wait until Naminé disappears down the road before I start walking to the bar where Sora and I are actually supposed to meet.

Oh yes. I go to great lengths to hide my secrets.

The sun, like it does for at least six hours a day, tints the world orange. Twilight Town, unlike anywhere else, witnesses the longest twilight period in the world. Go figure, right? It's pretty amazing, but definitely a little disorienting at first. When I first started out here at TTU, the sun began to set around three in the afternoon and I felt ready to go to bed by eight. Things were different on Destiny Islands where I grew up. I could tell the time based on the brightness of the sky and the position of the sun. Here, I had to get a watch.

I check said watch and quicken my pace. It's nearly 5:30 PM, our scheduled meeting time. I have Sora's number, but I'm reluctant to call it. I've never actually hooked up with someone like this—I always met guys at parties and social outings—so I don't know the proper etiquette. If you're meeting with someone, do you ask them if they're waiting for you? I don't know if that's rude or not. What if he isn't waiting for me and I send that text? Will he feel rushed or think I'm clingy or something?

I don't know, so I just keep walking. If he's there, he's there. If he isn't, I take the tram back home and trade Chuck and Taylor for the Dairy Queen. She and I will have a grand old time as we eat ice cream, watch reruns of _Survival of the Cutest_, and cry because I'm not getting any.

It's been a long time, okay?

Now that I think about it, Sora never really made it clear that he was willing to sleep with me. We flirted, I think, and I dropped tons of hints that I planned on going home with him, but you never know with guys. Well, even if he missed all the hints, I'll make it pretty clear if things go well. I did _not_ spend all this time on my appearance so that I could go home alone. People need to see me right now because I look fantastic, and I don't know when this will happen again because my hair and skin really got their shit together today and I don't think I'll be able to handle it if I go home without someone, _anyone_, noticing how cute I look today.

I have a problem.

If anyone's to blame, it's Tinkerbell. She's my true spirit animal, and I model my life after her.

But come on! I got a wax so the Queen could stay in her freezer and Chuck and Taylor could wait at the door. I'm too invested for this to fail.

I enter a bar called _The Keyhole_ (pick-up lines and puns regarding the namesake are strictly forbidden and the bar owner reserves the right to throw out anyone who violates this rule) and scan the crowd. There are two floors to this bar, and the first floor is ridiculously crowded. Happy hour started half an hour ago, and since most upperclassmen finish on Thursdays, The Keyhole is filled with more patrons than it can handle.

We didn't plan this meeting very well.

I think the Keyhole used to be a low-key bar. The wooden furnishing and glossy tabletops make it seem more fitting for a jazz bar. I mean, there are still a few frames featuring the most famous jazz artists and artwork that share titles with some well-known, crowd-pleasing tunes. I guess the target demographic shifted at one point. Today the speakers play the Top 40, and a couple students from one of the frats are cheering on a battle between two pledges who look like they're on the fast track to getting smashed. The track, in case it isn't obvious, is a line of ten shots. Someone better carry those two out at the end of the evening.

Most of the tables along the other edge are taken, and Sora's nowhere in sight. There's still some searching to do, so I walk through the entrance and plan accordingly.

In the middle of the establishment and left of the circular bar (I'm convinced that the raised platform the bartenders stand on used to be for a grand piano) is a spiral staircase. I square my shoulders. I read somewhere that walking with an air of confidence will make crowds part for you, so I tilt my chin a little higher, take a deep breath and walk through the crowd and

OHMYGODIT'SWORKING.

I manage to maintain a calm appearance as I walk upstairs, keeping my hand close to the railing. I notice that eye contact makes the people going down my side move over. This is great. I may have woken up late this morning, but I knew today was going to awesome the moment I plugged in my flashdrive on the first try.

The music up here isn't as loud as it was downstairs. The spiral staircase continues upward, but I step onto the second floor and look around.

Sora's here. He sits at a high table, one leg on the floor and the other on the lowest rung of the barstool. He's looking at something outside.

I stand there and gawk. He looks nothing like he did in his picture.

He is way hotter.

Like, way _way_ hotter.

Son of a bitch. What did I get myself into?

He turns before I even attempt to grab his attention. He smiles when his eyes land on me.

I die.

The end.

"Hey there," Sora greets as he approaches, pulling me back from the grave. His voice sounds boyish, like it's younger than the rest of his body. "You look like a girl I know."

I focus just enough to greet him. "And you look like a guy I know," I say. I don't really know how I'm supposed to greet him, so I make the smooth move of going in for a hug. He rolls with it, and oh my goodness does he smell fantastic. He smells like man. Like, the stereotypical man scent that all men's products seem to use. It's a hard smell to mess up.

I sniff him like he's a line of coke.

"You feeling under the weather?" Sora laughs as he pulls back. "I won't be mad if you'd rather be home right now."

Please. The only home I'm going to is yours.

(I'd say that if the badass in my head and the girl I actually was were the same person.)

"No, it's just allergies. Really," I say. "I see you've got a table for us. Have you been waiting long?"

"I got here fifteen minutes ago, but don't even worry about it," Sora says as he leads us back to the table. "Could've been another hour and it still would've been worth the wait," he adds as he scratched the back of his head.

Well bend me over and do me doggy.

I imagined when Sora was flirting with me through text, he was doing it with a confidence that only good-looking guys had—the kind of confidence that bordered cockiness. But this… this earnest, shy attempt at flirtation was a million times better. Clearly I won at Mingler. And no, Mingler is not a competitive game, but I definitely won.

"Oh stop it," I say. "I know you've been chatting with other girls the entire time you've been waiting."

"You caught me, but it's probably not what you think. You talking with anyone on it right now?" Sora slides me a menu and rests his elbows on the table.

"You're the only one. To be fair, you're the only normal and nice one. Everyone else is either really creepy or an amateur comedian. Not that there's anything wrong with the latter. I enjoy a good laugh," I say.

"As opposed to hating a good laugh?" Sora asks.

I shake my head. We had a whole conversation revolving around how generic some of the profiles were last night. Surprisingly enough, neither of us found someone who hated fun, laughter, and a good time. You don't say.

I cover my face and sigh dramatically. "Oh no. I'm just like the rest of them."

"No you're not. You're like"—Sora holds his thumb and pointer finger millimeters apart—"this much better than they are."

"There's the compliment I've been fishing for," I say. The muscles in my cheeks begin to burn, and I realize it's because I've been smiling the entire time. "So who have you been chatting with?"

"I haven't really been using Mingler since we started talking," Sora starts. The waitress interrupts to give us each a glass of water and to take our orders. He continues, "I don't think my situation can possibly get any better anyway."

Oh. Oh fuck this guy. He's got the embarrassed schoolboy act going, but he knows exactly what he's doing and he knows exactly what he wants to say next.

I hate that it's working.

There's a brief lull in our conversation. I shamelessly take in the sight of him. He's wearing a classic combination of jeans and a white V-neck t-shirt, and silver chain with a crown at the end hangs around his neck. It's the perfect accessory item to his otherwise plain ensemble. Don't get me wrong: he wears it very well. Everything fits and the clothes hug him in all the right places.

I clear my throat. "So what have you been doing on it?"

Sora takes out his phone and loads the app. "See for yourself," he says.

I read the most recent chat.

_Cute But Generic Girl 1: Whats ur most intimate sex fantasy? Ill tell u mine if u tell me urs ;)_

_Sora: I've always wanted to make love with arms._

_Cute But Generic Girl 1: Wat_

_Sora: With arms._

_Sora: I don't have arms._

_Sora: So coffee?_

I laugh. "Oh my gosh. You're one of those people."

"I'm sure they're very nice girls, but none of them really get my sense of humor," he says. "And some are just flat out mean."

He reaches across the table and opens another chat window. I read the contents:

_Cute Girl 2: Hey, are you the guy on the right or left?_

_Sora: I'm on the right._

_Cute Girl 2: Oh. Never mind then._

My mouth drops open. "That is too funny," I say. Sora's profile picture on Mingler features him and another guy, one with silver hair and aquamarine eyes, from the fat angle. Basically, Sora and his friend are sporting double chins. I figure most girls look through his other pictures because there's another picture with the same guy. They're posing normally with the view of Twilight Town behind them.

This girl thinks Sora's friend is hotter than he is? I'd say something is wrong with her, but that just means less competition for me.

"So is this your first time meeting someone in person?" Sora asks.

I return his phone and take mine out. "You wouldn't meet with any of these people, would you?"

Sora looks through the attempted chats that I never responded to.

"What the hell? Why are there so many… I don't know, creeps?" he asks.

"Welcome to being a woman," I say, sipping some of my water.

"Mind if I talk to these guys?" There's a mischievous glint in his eye that makes me want to say yes, if only to see what happens next.

"As me or you?" I ask.

"Obviously you."

Screw it. "Why not?"

* * *

_Sleazy Guy: Hey Pretty Lady Where Can I Pick You Up?_

_Me: Exit 39 on the interstate._

_Me: I just ran over a deer_

_Me: I need a ride home_

_Me: pls respond_

_Me: pls_

_Douchebag: We should fuck sometime._

_Me: You ever make love to a man?_

_Douchebag: No_

_Me: So you want to?_

_Me: Hello?_

_Scumbag: Show me ur pussy!_

_Me: ^.^_

_Scumbag: ur real pussy_

_Me: =^.^=_

_Scumbag: fuk u_

_Me: meow_

"Okay, I'm stopping there," Sora says as he puts my phone down. "I could do that shit all day."

I shake my head. We did not just spend the past hour harassing these guys. I look at my watch.

We did.

There's a plate of nachos between us that we've been munching on the entire time. When the waitress comes around again, we order drinks. Real drinks this time. Water isn't cutting it.

"How old are you?" Sora asks, eying my fake ID with a smirk.

"21 as of four months ago, for all intents and purposes," I say. "Call me Aqua until after we've gotten our drinks."

Sora laughs. "Well, I think Aqua should come over here and take a picture with Terra to commemorate this momentous meeting."

I roll my eyes and walk over to Sora. He holds his phone out with one arm and wraps the other around my waist, pulling me closer. I oblige and wrap my arms around his neck. He snaps a picture, but doesn't let go.

"Hold on. I'm pretty sure that one was blurry." He takes another. And another. And another.

I catch on and play along. We take about twenty more selfies before we part, giggling like we've just pulled off some great historical heist.

"I think we just documented two people slipping into insanity," Sora says. He briefly examines each photo, swiping every few seconds. "We look good together too."

"Are we ugly when we're not?" I ask. My margarita is placed in front of me and I start on it immediately. Delicious.

"I was going to say that I was dragging you down, but if you want to be pessimistic like that, you can have it your way," Sora says. He sips his beer and grimaces. "Ugh. I don't know why I ordered this. I don't really like drinking, so I'm going to blame you for pressuring me."

"I'm not falling for your modesty act," I say. "You are way hotter in real life than you are in your picture."

I catch Sora off-guard with that one. Since silence isn't exactly the response I was looking for, I start chugging my margarita so that I'll forget this ever happened in an hour.

"Yeah, I'm at a loss," Sora finally says. "Do you want this? I'm not going to drink it." He slides the beer over.

"Are you trying to get me drunk, Sora?" I sigh. I'm already halfway through my margarita, and if he calls me out for blushing, I've already decided that I'm blaming the alcohol.

He takes his beer back and finishes it in ten seconds. "No way. You can't possibly be any more fun than you are when you're sober."

I lean back in my chair and cross my arms. "In that brief moment of silence, _that_ was the best you could come up with?"

Sora laughs. "Yeah, that did not play out as I had imagined at all. I just find it hard to think when there's a gorgeous girl sitting in front of me."

I can't help it. I laugh too. We become the loud and obnoxious pair at the bar, and only when we receive a few dirty looks do we manage to tone it down.

"Was that Plan B all along?" I ask him.

"Kairi, that was Plan C. I forgot Plan A when you dropped your bomb, and we just watched Plan B get butchered just now," Sora says. He takes out his wallet and doesn't let me protest. "I'm at my limit. I'm taking you home, right?"

"If you're willing to do me another favor, then yeah. Need directions?"

A huge smile spread across his face. "No thanks. I know how to get to my apartment."

Well fuck me.

No, seriously. This is happening.

I bite my lip and shake my head. "That one worked out, didn't it?" I ask, linking my arm with his.

He nods and leads us toward the stairs.

"You have no idea," he says. "I practiced that one so many times this morning."

* * *

"So do you have a car?" I ask as we leave the bar. The damn sun is still setting, stuck in that seemingly perpetual state of twilight. Well, at least it's a sign that we've got the whole night ahead of us.

"Nope. But I have that," Sora says, pointing to a silver Vespa parked with other scooters and motorcycles.

"You're serious?"

"I'm serious."

We get on. I don't tell him that I've never been on a Vespa or that I'm a little nervous. He managed to get here safely, so I figure he'll be fine getting us back to his place.

Sora turns his head just enough to make eye contact. "Hold on tight."

I wrap my arms around his waist and slip my hands up his shirt, my fingers spreading over his abdomen. I feel his muscles tighten.

"Are you seriously flexing right now?" I giggle and bury my face in his back. He still smells like manly cologne, and manly cologne smells fantastic. Sora, therefore, still smells fantastic.

"Can you blame me? I'm a little wound up," he says.

* * *

When we turn into his apartment complex, I unbutton his jeans to get a head start.

* * *

Is a hot guy still hot if he has beer breath?

Abso-fucking-lutely. In fact, it's kinda turning me on.

As soon as we cross the threshold of his apartment, Sora and I are on the floor, clumsily trying to kiss each other as we tear at each other's clothes. The shirts go first. And even though I've been trying to shove his jeans off since we got off the Vespa, he beats me to the punch and tosses my shorts aside. He hovers above me, high enough to keep most of his weight off me, but close enough to feel the heat radiating from his skin.

I battle the urge to submit to his kisses, and with a great deal of effort, I finally get his pants off. Without a task to focus on, my hands are roaming over every possible surface in my reach.

I feel his hand sliding up my back. His fingers find the clasp of my bra, and with one pinch, it comes undone. He pulls it down my arms, and I'm forced to lift my hands from his skin to throw it away. The advantage swings in his favor, and I almost lose myself as he kisses a trail downward: he's at my lips, my chin, my neck. Before he can go any further, my hand slips past the waistband of his boxers.

He shudders. I decide I like the sound of his groan too, and I make it my personal mission to earn that result as many times as possible while I'm here.

"_Please_ tell me you have protection," I say. It's hard to focus on words while I stare at his bare chest. God damn. I hit the jackpot.

"It's in my room."

And in a display of absolute willpower, Sora and I make it to his room.

* * *

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